Alana's Trail

Chapter 1

The ground trembled violently for probably the tenth time since Lady Alana Moorhawk started on her way home. She gripped Celandine's mane, perhaps a bit harder than she had intended if the poor creature's snorting was any indication, and spurred the horse on. While she preferred the companionship that came with staying in contact with her horse, she forced herself to grasp the reins. After all, it wasn't the horse's fault she was angry.

Running alongside them, her wolfhound Senna bayed in sympathy with the horse.

Alana cringed. "Have I really been so bad today?"

The wolfhound cried again.

"I'm sorry. I just..." She just what? Let that stupid town scribe get to her? In her defense, he had called her Sir Tristan's half breed and demanded someone of some actual importance be sent in the future. Most of the province had outgrown the need to point out Alana's heritage, regardless of their opinion of her. But running into the one guy three provinces over who hadn't did nothing but set her on edge.

A younger Alana would have resorted to her childhood tactic of protesting that Sir Tristan was her biological father, and that her late mother's status shouldn't be held against him. The older, wiser Alana knew it wasn't Sir Tristan they were passing judgement on. The kingdom had forgiven him his indiscretions years ago.

It was her.

As she reached adulthood, the conversation changed. The locals were no longer whispering about her heritage; they were now gossiping about her marriage prospects. The rumor was that her father was struggling to marry off the half-breed; and while Alana was unaware of any offers, she feared the rumormongers might be right. No one would align with a girl whose mother was a common villager, regardless of her family name.

But she also reminded herself that those spreading the rumors were notoriously bitter, and had Alana not been available for their vitriol, they would have found another victim. Perhaps it was better that they targeted her. She would do as she had always done: cry on Aidan's shoulder for a bit and listen to him remind her for the thousandth time that she was his amazing sister, regardless of what anyone else might say.

That was...if Aidan was even home. He was supposed to be touring the province while she was gone, but he should be home ahead of her. She would stop by the chapel when she reached Thornwood. She missed his calm presence.

Senna and Celandine both started making small noises of distress as they crossed into Stonehaven, the last province before Westvale, and Alana sympathized. Riding through a week ago had been painful enough; the rocky province had taken on a foul odor Alana couldn't put her finger on. The flora in the area was dying, decaying right on the branches and vines. She'd never seen anything like it, and she didn't want to be stuck in it any longer than she had to.

She spurred Celandine on, but the horse was reluctant to comply. "Come on," she whispered. "We're almost home." The horse shuffled to the side a couple of steps before starting forward again, and then another tremor, larger than the ones they'd been through so far, stopped both horse and wolfhound in their tracks. Senna looked around, trying to find somewhere safe to run off to. Celandine backed up a few steps before rearing, nearly knocking Alana off. She managed to keep her seat and sooth the horse before dismounting and kneeling, placing her hand on the ground. After days of riding through provinces where the land was only just starting to show signs of sickness, where the tremors were fewer and weaker, the sensation seeping through her arm left her queasy.

She stood and looked around. "This isn't right." Then, she whistled for the wolfhound and mounted the horse, "Let's get home."

=====

A handful of tremors rocked them as they raced toward the Westvale border, but nothing so large as the quake that had nearly knocked Alana off her horse. For that, she was grateful. She felt like she'd been on the road for over a month instead of the two weeks it had taken to ride home. Two weeks of mentally replaying the conversation with that sniveling, little...scribe. She took several deep breaths, reminding herself that, despite whatever anyone else said, she was Lady Alana Moorhawk, official courier to her father Sir Tristan Moorhawk, first and foremost and Alana, Sir Tristan's bastard daughter, second. It was how her father would expect her to present herself. It was how her brother would expect her to present herself.

No, that wasn't true. They simply expected her to be herself. Though her father had never said anything, the speed with which he'd accepted her into the household when she was sent to him after her mother passed away made clear that he accepted the five-year-old dumped on his doorstep without argument.

Alana still remembered the long journey to Thornwood, with nothing but the cloak carelessly thrown around her shoulders and the bag with virtually nothing in it. Her mother had passed away the previous winter from an illness that had plagued much of the region; Alana had bounced from family friend to family friend until someone finally remembered her mother's encounter with Sir Tristan. And then she'd been bundled up and sent, by way of a caravan delivering supplies, to Westvale.

That first night had been terrifying. The manor was enormous. Everything was so nice and clean. Even her bed, and it had taken her several days to understand that was her own bed, was softer and warmer than anything she'd slept in before. The next morning, though, she'd found a boy, just a couple of months younger than her: Sir Tristan's son Aidan.

"So, you're my sister?" he'd asked in a quiet, hopeful tone.

Alana had shrugged, "I - I guess so."

"I always wanted a sister," and he'd gone back to his breakfast. That was that.

Growing up among the children in her hometown, she hadn't given much thought to having a sibling of her own. But here in this large, empty building, she understood why Aidan would want a sister, someone to play with. They'd finished breakfast, and then Aidan showed her the chapel gardens. They'd been best friends ever since, Aidan refusing to let anyone suggest she wasn't his real sister. She'd taken comfort in that.

The sound of metal clanging against metal started to fill the air, and Alana smiled. It always amazed her how clearly the sounds of the live forge rang out across Westvale. She closed her eyes and daydreamed about all the new tools and weapons being crafted at the Pine Glen forges.

As she started mentally planning out an order for some arrows to replace the ones she'd lost or worn out on her recent travels, she was thrown violently from her horse. She rolled to a prone position, waiting for the earthquake to subside. It was by far the most severe she'd experienced, but two weeks of hard riding weren't helping. After several moments, she heard Celandine softly whimpering, and Senna sniffed her face. She nuzzled him back. "I'm all right. Just...sore..."

In the distance, the clanging at the foundries had stopped, no doubt in response to the earthquake. She hoped no one had been hurt. There was quite possibly no worse place to be in Westvale during an earthquake than a town devoted to heating and shaping metal.

The horse was unwilling to continue, skittish after the quake. But Alana clucked and nudged her on, walking alongside. She wound the reins around her hands, only to unwind them and roll them between her hands. The wolfhound ran out ahead of them several feet, waited for them to catch up, and then ran out ahead again. It felt monotonous, tedious, but Alana reasoned it was necessary, if only to settle all of their nerves.